


A Series Of Events That Spiral Into Fatigue-Induced Madness And Scott's Ringtone Is A Goat Screaming

by Moony_07



Series: I got diagnosed with cool guy syndrome yesterday (he HAH), so now I take ADDERALL [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Caring Derek, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Fluff, M/M, POV First Person, POV Multiple, School, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepiness, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moony_07/pseuds/Moony_07
Summary: (AKA the cliche of Mine. Yours? but in the context that is certainly not as creepy as I've seen done before. I mean, if you like the [absolutely SCREECHING] possessiveness of it, then good on you. But that, for the most part, ain't really my cup of steaming hot FLUFFY AS SHIT FEELINGS AAAA tea. But try this story out. You might just like it, and I definitely plan on finishing it, one way or another.)I fling myself back into the desk (From behind this time. SKILLS.) and snatch my phone from atop a history book, then flopping into my seat, legs pulling up in a criss-cross position. Upon turning on the device and seeing three notifs for bad weather and six belonging to Jackson complaining about APHG, I come to my verdict: Scott’s a lying sneaky snake. Heeere we go.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: I got diagnosed with cool guy syndrome yesterday (he HAH), so now I take ADDERALL [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584226
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	1. Is This What The Literal Form Of Cosmic Brownies Tastes Like?

**Author's Note:**

> Scott will have redemption.
> 
> ... Probably.

**[ RED ]**

After downing a twenty-four-ounce thermos of Redbull mixed with black coffee and Monster sprinkled in somewhere along the way, I can proudly pronounce that sounds are now colors and colors are now the meaning of frog multiplied by the coefficient of friction.

In other words: _finals._

Despite the great new drink that I’m now calling Fresh Hell Mix sending me to seemingly permanent isolation in hyperspace, today has been… Productive. With Adderal, things have been better than good, at least. I get days where I can’t focus on jack shit and days where _oh my god the mythology look at all this juicy information that I’m about to catalog and scan and fact check with the Friendly Neighborhood Werewolves_ _™_ _and write pages upon pages of analysis and battle strategies and-_

I’m a mess. I’m a burning, dying mess. There’s a buzz under my skin, motivating my fidgeting hands, sending waves of Smart Person Soup to my microwave-fried brain.

I lean back in my seat, the old desk chair squeaking. There’s a mechanical pencil flipping between my fingers so fast that it’s like a blur. I freeze my fingers, feeling the buzz screech at me for the sudden pause. The pencil’s eraser end is _thoroughly_ chewed, looking like the site of a fresh asteroid attack.

Before I know what I’m doing, it’s flying towards the window. There’s no pathetic thump. Nothing shuffles the weight under its impact. _Brain calculating..._ That must mean it never even hit the-

“If it isn’t Mr. Wolfypersonuhhh _Ican’tthinkofanamerightnow_ ,” I say, words descending into a slurred jumble.

Neck cracking in at _least_ five different places, I crane my head backward, now met with an upside-down version of Derek. Yawning, my fingers link together, and my arms stretch along the path of my head. I probably look like a deranged cat to him. _Haha. Derranged cat. Dog. Cat. You get the gist._

“‘Sup,” I pop the word, letting a smile creep over my face.

His nose twitches. “Is that… Red Bull? And coffee? And… _Pixy Stix_?”

Right. Forgot about the Pixy Stix fiasco. One tip: Don’t substitute that shit for powdered creamer. It’s a hell of a ride for anyone involved, and even worse if there’s just one single person there to laugh at themselves pitifully.

I blurt out, “There’s also some Monster.”

“The new ginger beer flavor?”

“Yes?”

Both eyebrows raise as he takes a step closer, glancing over my chin at the laptop screen. There’s a murmur, _“Sweet baby Jesus.”_

“Twenty-six pages of _knowledge_ ,” I brag, tapping my temple with a finger, feeling a smirk replace the smile.

“Your heart rate is more erratic than usual- Is that _Adderall_?”

An awkward silence congests the room.

There’s a cough. “Aren’t you dizzy? Sitting like that?”

Oh. _Ohhhhh shit._

I jerk my entire body forward, catching the quick sight of Derek’s eyebrows flying up into his hairline once again. My toes slam against the desk (ow) and I practically impale myself against the overhanging surface space (fucking _ow_ ). Pens jostle. Silence clogs the air again.

“Why are you here again?” I question, spinning around in the chair so we’re actually _facing_ each other.

“Scott texted you, didn’t he?” Derek deadpans.

 _Scott? Texting me? What?_ I wrack my brain, going through every file, thinking over every hour of the past two days. It’s a jumble of bright screens, words that drone on and on and- no text notifications. My phone’s ringer is on a decent level so I’ll hear alarms and shit, most importantly a call from dad. Scott’s ringtone is a goat screaming. I’ve heard exactly _zero_. _Nulla. Noll. Żaden. Nessuna._

I fling myself back into the desk (From behind this time. _Skills_.) and snatch my phone from atop a history book, then flopping into my seat, legs pulling up in a criss-cross position. Upon turning on the device and seeing three notifs for bad weather and six belonging to Jackson complaining about APHG, I come to my verdict: Scott’s a lying sneaky snake. Heeere we go.

“He most certainly did not,” I remark, looking up at Derek with a cocked eyebrow.

There’s a pause. “He was going to ask you how you were.”

“On whose behalf?”

Scott is my best friend, but lately, because of girl stuff and just… Drama, there’s been a disconnect. Our latest conversation was about if the bad weather this week is gonna cancel school. So, there’s a storm coming, obviously, but-

“Mine,” Derek responds shortly. Like it’s the most normal fucking thing in the world.

It takes my brain a moment to buffer through _that_ one, hands suspended mid-fidget.

“Yours?” I ask dumbly, feeling something warm turn over and fester in my chest.

“It was on my behalf,” he says.

“Haha _aaaa_ … _What ?”_

“Nevermind, just-” he sighs, running a hand over his face. “Right. You need sleep.”

“I’m hopped up on Red Bull, Monster, black coffee, and Pixy Stix. And Adderall. I’ll be awake with a lasting attention span for a solid hour.”

 _“And then you’re going to crash. Hard,”_ he mutters.

“Whawazthatd?”

An unamused look is cast my way. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

Derek tilts his head up till he’s facing the ceiling, letting out an ungodly long sigh. _“I can’t fucking believe you.”_

Next thing I know, Derek is scooping me up into his arms and dumping my ass onto the bed, making the entire thing shake under my weight. Then he slaps me in the face with a pillow. I mean, _rude_ , but I’m not taking any chances with hitting him back.

_“Who should I call?”_ Derek demands, and when I shove the pillow out of my face, he has his arms crossed across his chest, bright hazel eyes dead set on my face.

“Wellllllllll-”

_“Stiles.”_

“Just-” I groan. “Jackson.”

He nods, snagging my phone off of the desk. Then, one foot already into the hallway, the only thing he has to say is, _“Number.”_ And suddenly I’m listing a specific string of digits that essentially mean “RED”. Just that. Just the color. But I catch a little baby smirk grazing his face, and I wish I could just _turn off my brain_ , and remembering what it all means makes me happy but today isn’t a happy day, today is a study day, and-

“I can hear you thinking, Stilinski,” Derek calls from the hall.

A snort escapes me.

**[ THAT’S UH- THAT’S A DOG ]**

“What the fuck,” Jackson deadpans through the tinny speaker.

“He told me to call you,” I try to explain.

“Not Scott? For once? They’re besties', Derek, nothing gets between them.”

I sigh for the millionth time today. “Besties can have disagreements. But right now, Stiles is practically drunk with energy and… Shit happens. Finals. This, though, is _bad_. He’s got his inhibitions lowered, trust me, I _know_. Fucking-”

“Firstly, stop freaking out,” Jackson instructs, “Stiles isn’t immortal and isn’t a big bad wolf, but he also isn’t the weakest person in the world. A drink made up of- what did you say- Monster, Red Bull, whatever the fuck- it won’t kill him. So shut it.”

Silence overtakes the other end until he exhales and murmurs, “Chamomile tea. No drugs, not even the sleep-inducing Tylenol. Lots of water. If you’ve got a full schedule, fucking _clear it_ or call Allison over. Watch over his sorry ass.”

“I’ll get to that-”

“Derek.”

_“What is it now?”_

“ _Don’t be a little shit_. When I say ‘take care of him’, I fucking mean it. If a little birdie tells me you even _attempt_ to hurt him, I’ll frame you for murder. We already know Sherrif Stilinski’s got his eyes on you. Don’t make me give him even more of a reason to put you in jail.”

“Right.”

“Good. I better hear about it when he gets better.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

_“Don’t get on my fucking good side, Hale. Stay neutral.”_

The call ends.


	2. Blanket Burritos, Burning, And Blasphemy (In The Form Of Oreo Wars)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles engages in Oreo War 2020 with Allison, and you're favourite tall dog returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting just in time for the middle of finals. Whoop whoop. I've been dead so long because school is important too and I'm leaning towards a hella good college. Go studying! Go AP! AaaaaAAAAIHAVEN'TGOTTENAGOODNIGHT'SRESTIN6FUCKINGYEARS!

**[RED]**

I woke up feeling like… Well, feeling like shit.

My eyes are always practically weights, it’s a fact that may never change, but as soon as consciousness came back to me, I  _ knew. _

_ Everything is about to suck a million times more than usual. _

Something sickly curls in my stomach when I wobble to my feet, using the wall like some kind of way to balance myself. A migraine thrums violently in my head. Dizziness just decides to slam  _ right  _ into my body two seconds after I think I’m physically capable of walking like a normal person.

By some  _ miracle _ , I’m able to stumble down to the kitchen with only my pajama pants on and Tylenol as the number one goal. What I get is a concerned look from dad.

“I’m fine,” is what I planned to say, but what comes out instead is the signature wheeze of my throat  _ not being prepared _ . So, in short, I said something along the lines of, “EecK.”

“You really aren’t,” my dad replies, because he’s been living with my stupid ass for forever and knows my antics. Sadly.

Clearing my throat, I mumble, “It’ll get better.”

“After it gets worse.”

_ “I have a test today.” _

“You can  _ reschedule _ , Mr. Important.”

“Don’tffhhhincallmethatpleas.”

“Go to your room.”

Next thing I know my face is burrowed into a pillow and I’ve got a leg slung over Pillow #2 (which is specifically for cuddling an imaginary wol- cOUGH COUGH TOOMUCHINFORMATIONSORRY). The faint clinking noise of a glass being set on my nightstand and the jingle of a pill bottle  _ almost _ snap me out of a fuzzy haze in between real life and the mysterious realm of sleep.

A hand gently comes down- I can sense it before it even lands- and ruffles my hair. I wheeze a weak “love you, bye” to my dad and pass the fuck out.

It feels like only a few seconds before I’ve woken up, even though the dream (you don’t want to know) I had lasted much longer. There’s a figure gently shaking my shoulder.

“Stiles,” it says, sounding suspiciously like Allison.

I grumble, “That’s my name.”

“Derek’s coming over.”

My body instantly leaves the mattress, sheets go flying, pillows left astray all except for Pillow #2, which is somehow still under my leg. “He is doing  _ what now _ .”

“Calm down, Stilinski, he’s not going to attempt murder.”

“No, I just-” I run a hand through my hair and slide it down my neck. “I know that. I think. I mean I know he’s not going to kill me while you’re here, and there’s also the fact that we’ve been like  _ A+ Trust Fall Buddies™  _ for a bit, so I trust him. He’s nice. I know he isn’t-” I sigh, grinding out a straightforward answer, “ _ Point. Is.  _ That I know he isn’t going to, you know, disembowel me as slowly as possible with a butterknife and the precision of a chainsaw.”

“That was a  _ paragraph _ .”

“Story of my life.” There’s a pause. “Anything on Scott?”

She tilts her head to the side, glancing at the ceiling, then looks back at me. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. He’ll come to me when he’s ready. I don’t have time for the silent treatment, let alone stress over it.”

Allison shifts so she’s sitting with her back against the bedside, and I flop back down over the pillows.

“I got you some Oreos while you were practically dead-”

**_“AAAAAAA HAND THEM OVER WOMAN-”_ **

Next thing I know, I’m getting smacked in the face with that beautiful blue container. It makes the satisfying ripping noise as I claw it open and shove at  _ least  _ four into my mouth. Allison attempts to snatch two, but I successfully slide it away from her at the last second.

Then she literally jumps on top of me, grabbing for the container, but I  _ refuse  _ to get tricked that easily, and secure the practically useless lid, rolling the side. It’s hugged to my chest. She doesn’t look amused. We’re pillow fighting before I can think twice, and I land a few good swings before she smacks me over the head at full force and yanks the container out of my poor hands.

“I’m sick and old!” I whine with a clearly congested nose, but Allison is  _ heartless _ so all I get is her stupid smirk.

A gentle ping sounds through my room, and both of our heads snap in the direction of Allison’s phone. She grabs it with unreasonable elegance, which directly clashes with the fact that she’s balancing the Oreo container on her head.

“It’s from Derek,” she says, and my brain proceeds to short circuit.

“Oh,” is all I can muster, and she gives me a weird look.

Allison jumps up to her feet (The container of Oreos  _ still  _ managing to stay balanced) and taps the screen of her phone a few times.

“‘Tell him I’m almost there’,” she repeats the text message in a mutter, then says in a clearer voice, “Stiles, he’s pretty much at your doorstep, I think I’ll take my leave here.”

“Noooo, Argent, you can’t leave me alone with him. He’s crazy,” I dramatically pretend to plead, clawing at her jeans.

She smiles down at me, ruffling my hair. “I have to go talk with Scott, and I really don’t feel like getting more involved with Derek than I’m obligated to. He’s… A good guy, but… I’m just taking a short break.”

I nod to her, and Allison repeats the gesture back to me, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders and placing some stray pillows back beside my legs.

By the time Derek knocks at the wall, standing tall in the doorway, Allison is gone. And I have no  _ Friend Defense Wall To Keep Stiles From Saying Something Extremely Fucking Stupid™ _ . 

He’s leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, biceps as  _ threatening  _ as always.

Now, let me get something straight: I’m not a  _ complete  _ idiot, contrary to popular belief. Derek is a werewolf, which essentially means the guy has a lie detector in the form of an internal heart monitor of people in a twenty-foot radius, can  _ smell  _ fucking  _ emotions _ , and can tease me about the Little Red thing. I know he’s seen it, at least. My phone password, I mean. I specifically gave it to him.

Right. Jackson.

“Hope my new buddy didn’t bite your ear off through my shitty phone speakers,” I say, vocal cords hoarse from the Great Oreo Battle of 2020.

“Oh,  _ he tried _ ,” Derek responds, face cold as stone, though warmth laces his voice. “It was a treat. Told me to ‘stay neutral’.”

“You’ll grow on him.”

_ “I’ll grow on him,”  _ he repeats in a scoff, pushing off from his leaning position against the doorway and strolling over to me.

Derek squats down at my bedside so we’re face-to-face, sliding his cold hand over my heated forehead. It’s an understatement to say I melted into his gentle touch. A pleasant sigh escaped as a huff through my nose when he put the other palm against my cheek.

“You’re burning up,” he states, “And also in a blanket burrito.”

“Damn right I’m in a blanket burrito. Those are like heaven in a swaddle, get with the program.”

Derek chuckles gently, the sound seeping into my skin and echoing all the way through my body, ears, and chest, relaxing every muscle.

“You’re melting.”

“Mmmhmmjppfffff.”

“Clever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more fluff between the main. Fucking. Couple. In the next chapter. I just really like writing good friendships and the shenaniganry that comes with such.
> 
> (Will edit chapter later.)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter has now been edited so italics don't create random spaces that ruin everything. I went over it quickly with Grammarly, so there may be one or two I missed, but I got rid of a TON.


End file.
